by Lisa Suzanne
He shrugs. “We’ve been approached for several. Some singing competitions, some behind-the-music types, and one was even interested in following us around on the road.”
“If you would’ve done that one, wherever we fuck tonight might’ve been caught on camera.”
“Hmm,” he says. “On camera. An interesting thought you bring up, Maci Dane.”
I laugh. “I don’t do porn.”
“It wouldn’t be porn. I’m not paying you.”
“Okay, then I don’t do sex tapes.” I roll my eyes.
“What about just the body, no face?” He looks so hopeful that I can’t help my chuckle.
“You’re not letting go of this idea, are you?” I say it more like a statement than a question.
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“You’re used to girls just doing whatever you want.”
He nods. “Pretty much. But I think your constant rejection might just be one of the most intriguing things about you.”
Beads of guilt roll around in my stomach. “You just said you don’t take rejection well.”
“I don’t. But you’re different,” he says softly.
I open my mouth to respond, and then the limo comes to a complete stop.
Ethan glances out the window. “We’re here.”
We’re on some side street, and I see lights and people milling around just ahead of us. Some pass with huge green cups that stand three feet tall. Others laugh, some look to be running. It’s a huge mix of different people, and it’s probably not smart for us to get in the middle of the action, but where Ethan’s concerned, I don’t do smart.
“I want a hurricane,” I say, naming the sticky sweet rum drink New Orleans is known for.
“Chuck!” Ethan calls. We haven’t exited the car yet. “She wants a hurricane.”
Chuck taps some buttons on his phone. “Less than a block away,” he says.
“Then let’s go,” Ethan says.
Chuck and Griffin get out first and survey the area, and then Griffin holds his hand out to help me out of the car. My heels are too tall for the uneven sidewalks, and I immediately trip. Griffin steadies me, and then Ethan slides out of the car behind me.
“Allow me,” he says, taking my hand in his and pulling me away from Griff. His fingers lace through mine, and it feels so normal—like I’m with my boyfriend and we’re about to walk down Bourbon Street the way a couple on vacation might do. We’re going to buy rum drinks and look for somewhere to do something dirty in public—or Ethan will, at least. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree to it.
It might not be such a big deal if we weren’t who we are. People will be watching. Stories will be shared, and with today’s digital world, we might even be caught on video. Is it worth having a private moment showcased to the world just to get Ethan to like me? Probably not, but it’s not like I haven’t been showcased to the world in that context before. My video for “Do it Twice” is basically soft porn.
We hold hands until we arrive at some tiny bar that’s just a counter and a bunch of machines. Chuck orders our drinks while Ethan nuzzles my neck just behind him. Griffin stands behind us. One guard in front, one in back—just an average Wednesday night in Louisiana.
The streets are crowded enough no one really notices we’re here. Most people are drunk and caught up in their own good time. It’s a serious party out here—the perfect atmosphere for someone like Ethan. And me, I guess. At least the Maci side of me, anyway.
Chuck hands us each a red drink and informs us we only have about ten minutes before we need to get to the club. Ethan looks disappointed since our short time frame means we probably won’t be able to fit in a quickie, so instead we suck down our sweet rum drinks and giggle our way down the street. His fingers are linked loosely through mine, and the simple act feels more intimate with him than it might with someone else. He’s holding my hand, laughing with me, treating me to a drink, paying attention to me.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
We take some pictures with fans who recognize us, and we end up back in the limo way too quickly, ushered by Chuck and Griffin the entire way.
“Well that wasn’t what I was expecting,” Ethan says.
I laugh. “What were you expecting?”
“To get rid of this wood somewhere on Bourbon Street,” he says, grabbing his erection.
“I have good news for you,” I say.
He raises a brow at me.
“The club is on Bourbon.” We could’ve easily walked, but I’m glad for the back of the limo in these stupid boots.
His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning, and all I can do is laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MACI
The entrance of a strip club on Bourbon Street is every bit as disgusting as you’d imagine it would be. Empty cups and bottles litter the ground, a guy is throwing up into some bushes a few feet away from us, a couple is dry humping against the wall, oblivious to the world around them. It feels like a scene out of a cheap movie, but it’s not. The smell of vomit and garbage is fresh in the air, and that feeling I’ve had all day that something bad is about to happen intensifies.
When we walk into the club, I’m shocked by how small it is—and also at how many people are packed into it. A woman grinds on stage against a pole, her breasts on either side of it, and men stare and drool and toss money at her like a bunch of pigs.
The hostess ushers us back to some dressing rooms, where we’ll wait until Ethan’s introduced. I’m sure it’s normal protocol to leave us where the strippers get ready for their performances, but there’s four half-naked women back here and they’re all eyeing Ethan hungrily. I squeeze his arm against my chest to remind him he’s here with me.
The light is bright back here, probably so the dancers can see to get ready, but it’s harsh compared to the dimness just on the other side of the door.
“Ethan Fuller,” a woman says, her voice husky and full of sex as she saunters up toward Ethan. A thick layer of make-up covers the beauty that might lie beneath, and she wears a black leather leotard and platform heels that must be eight inches tall. Her breasts are barely contained in that thing, and even as I think that, I remember where we are. We’re lucky they’re contained at all right now.
“Naomi,” he says. He flashes her a panty-dropping grin, and I’m disappointed he knows her name—or that he remembers it, at least.
“You come here for me?” she asks.
He shakes his head and glances at me. “Paid appearance.”
She takes a step closer to him but she doesn’t reach out to hug him. Instead, she grabs for his cock, and he doesn’t exactly back away. Not immediately, anyway.
“I see you’re ready for me, though,” she says, her voice sultry.
“Not tonight, baby,” he says. He grabs her hand, and my eyes fall to the way his hand flexes over hers, the veins in the back of his hand, the strong fingers. And then my stomach heaves and my chest tightens at his term of endearment for her. Baby.
“Cause of her?” she asks, jabbing her thumb in my direction.
I wait with bated breath for his response.
He ducks his head. “Yeah.”
Naomi’s eyes fall to me. She eyes me with heavy lids, and it’s clear to me she’s on something. “She can join us.”
“I’m good,” I say, holding up a hand.
“Play nice,” Ethan says, and I’m pretty sure he’s scolding me, not her.
I fix a glare on him. “We’ve already established I don’t play nice,” I mutter.
He laughs.
“You want anything, baby?” Naomi asks Ethan. Their baby nicknames to each other are making me nauseous.
“What do you have?” He looks around the room, and his eyes pause for a beat on another stripper.
I clear my throat on instinct to pull his attention, and he gives me a cursory glance.
“The usual,” Naomi says. “Pinch of coke, dash of heroin. But I can find you anything you
want.”
My heart races at the mention of cocaine. It’s in the room with me more often than I want it to be—not by my own choosing, but because of the parties and places where I’m invited. Just hearing the word, though, takes me back to a place I don’t ever care to visit.
“I’m off that shit,” Ethan says. He glances over at me as if he’s offering me the drugs, and I shake my head. I have no interest in the hard stuff. Not after what happened with my mom. “But I’ll do a line.”
I tug on his arm in fair warning that this is a bad idea, but he ignores me. I don’t know him well enough to stop him. In fact, I realize as I stand in the back room of a strip club where one of the strippers is about to hand over some drugs to Ethan, I don’t know him at all.
Chuck makes a small grunt of disapproval, but he’s Ethan’s security guard, not his babysitter and not someone who can stop him from making bad decisions. He could say whatever he wanted, but Ethan strikes me as the type of guy who would do the opposite just for spite.
I agree with Chuck. I don’t like this. He has to make a professional appearance in a few minutes, and he’s already had whiskey, weed, and rum on top of who the fuck knows what else. Adding a line of cocaine to the mix is a recipe for disaster, but I have no idea how to talk him out of it.
He untangles himself from my grasp and follows Naomi over to her vanity. I don’t want to watch, don’t want to be here, don’t want to see him snort a line of cocaine into his nose. None of this feels right, but for as much as I try to tell myself I don’t care about him, that this is all just because I want to get back at him for some twenty-year-old debt, I can’t help it. I do care.
He rolls up a dollar bill and leans over the counter attached to her vanity. It’s an absolute mess of make-up and hair tools and accessories, but a small mirror sits in the middle and I watch from across the room as he leans down and takes his line. When he straightens, he closes his eyes and sniffs, and then he wipes at his nose with his forefinger. That same finger that has been inside me, pumping in and out, the same finger that grips his drumsticks to make the magic he does, and now I’ll have this disappointing visual every time I look at him.
He kisses Naomi on the cheek then strides across the room back to me, head held confidently.
I glare at Naomi, which she catches just before she bends over to snort her own line. She shoots me a wicked grin that tells me she knows she’s got her hooks into the guy I’m here with, and then Ethan says, “Let’s do this.”
“The manager will get you when he’s ready,” Chuck says. I wonder for a split second how long Chuck has been with Ethan and the types of things he’s seen in that time. Ethan has no problem doing whatever the hell he wants in front of him, so clearly he trusts Chuck to take care of him. Even though I make stupid decisions, I don’t trust anyone—Griffin included—enough to let myself go.
Besides, it’s not worth it. We’re in a back room where a stripper grabbed Ethan’s dick and then gave him cocaine. I can only imagine the headlines that would make, and I don’t want to be part of it by association. I thought this would be a fun night that would push Ethan and me closer together, but instead I’m seeing a completely different side to him—one that I don’t like at all.
Instead of admitting that to him, I act the part I’m supposed to act to complete the mission that brought me here in the first place.
I let him kiss me in front of everyone in the room. When he tries to open his mouth to mine, I pull back.
Griff hands me a glass of whiskey, which I chug down in two long pulls.
I listen to Ethan while he talks loudly and enthusiastically, clearly a side effect of the drug. I follow when the manager comes in, and I smile for photos that’ll surely end up in the tabloids when he takes us out to the club. I play the part I’ve signed up for—the sidekick to the guy here for an appearance. Maybe a girlfriend, maybe not—nothing has been confirmed yet, and it’s just enough to pique the interest of our fans.
The whole appearance part of the night lasts about twenty minutes. An outsider might not notice that everything about him is exaggerated from the coke, but I can see it.
I guess for as much as I thought I don’t know him at all, I do.
“Did you know Naomi spelled backwards is imoan?” he asks as we walk back into the dressing room.
I roll my eyes. “Can we go now?”
Naomi—or imoan—saunters back up to Ethan. She curls an arm around him and presses her mouth to his neck, and I want to push her the fuck off him. She’s not his to do that to, but he isn’t mine to get jealous over, either.
My hands curl into fists and my nails dig into my palms as I gear up to fight. “Get off him.” My voice has a hard edge to it.
She laughs at me like I’m a little girl.
“I’m not kidding.” My blood boils and I’m ready to knock her in the face so hard her fake eyelashes fly off.
“You want another line?” she asks him, completely ignoring me.
Ethan glances at me. I’m sure my eyes are full of anger, and I shake my head at him in a clear indication he should say no.
“Sure,” he says.
His eyes always have a bit of defiance in them, but as he looks at me now, they hold a clear air of rebellion. It’s as if he’s agreeing to have just one more line only to spite me.
“Griff, take me home,” I say. Even as I say it, I realize home is thousands of miles away. This is one of the many moments I just want to go home home, not to a tour bus or a hotel. I want to climb under my covers and not come out for days. I want to be alone, and I want to forget this stupid idea to get Ethan to fall for me. He’ll never fall for anyone, and thinking I held some special powers that would change him was a total miscalculation on my part.
Griffin nods at me and pulls out his phone to find us a ride as Ethan follows Naomi over to her vanity. Just before she hands him the same rolled up dollar bill, we hear some commotion coming from the hallway outside our door. A loud voice, probably some drunk asshole, yells something, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I hear some thumps against the wall. Griffin and Chuck both spring alert, and I find myself stepping closer to Griff...not to Ethan, who’s about to snort cocaine across the room from me. I’m sure we’re safe—we have to be safe. We hear a quick succession of five sharp raps coming from somewhere in the middle of the wall, not the door, and then Naomi yells, “Fuck!”
“What?” Ethan asks. She doesn’t answer; instead, she blows the lines of coke off the mirror and onto the floor then shoves the mirror and rolled up bill into a drawer. She sits at her vanity with eerie calmness.
“Five-oh,” she says. Her hands shake as she holds up a tube of lipstick. “That’s what five knocks mean.”
My heart races and I’m not even the one doing drugs. I can’t imagine what the hell must be going through Ethan’s head.
“Fuck. The cops?” Ethan asks.
She nods, and Ethan turns wide, fearful eyes on Chuck.
“This way,” Chuck says. Griffin grabs my hand, and we follow Chuck through a side door I hadn’t even noticed. We pass through a hallway and end up out on a patio.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan says. “Shit.” Chuck leads us through a gate and around to the front of the club, where we spot the limo waiting for us. When we slide into the car, relief washes over me. We got out unscathed—barely.
Ethan’s initial high has worn off, but cocaine has this strange way of keeping people awake. He’s raring to go, and I’m ready to slip into bed after the stressful events of tonight.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Hotel,” I say.
He grins wickedly at me. “Yeah, baby.”
“Fuck you, Ethan.” I move as far away from him as I can.
He looks confused for a minute, and then he glares at me and turns his attention to his phone for the entire car ride back. Once we arrive at our hotel, I storm out. Griffin follows close behind me. I hear Ethan calling my name, but I ignore him.
&nbs
p; He couldn’t be bothered to pay any attention to me when I was trying to save him from doing something stupid, so now it’s time for payback.
I head into the hotel and never bother to look back at him.
“You okay?” Griff asks once we’re on the elevator headed toward my room. His room is right next door.
I lift a shoulder. “Still shaking from what could’ve happened, but I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will be. You’re strong. But are you okay?” He leans in to give me a hug I didn’t ask for, but right now his arms feel like the most comforting place in the world.
My voice shakes when I finally answer. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I just wish I believe the words as I say them.
* * *
I blocked Ethan last night. I didn’t want to hear from him and didn’t want to answer his calls. It was childish, but I was pissed about what he did—and what he was about to do.
Except at some point today, I’ll have to face him. We’re performing tonight, so even if I somehow manage to avoid him all day with the help of Griffin, I’ll still see him on stage tonight when I perform that final song with Vail.
I spend the afternoon catching up on business and doing my best not to think about Ethan and the fact that he flat out ignored me last night. My phone is eerily quiet, and I keep checking it to see if Ethan has tried to call or text...always just before I remember I blocked him.
I briefly wonder if he went back to Naomi to fuck her after the limo dropped Griff and I off, but it’s not my business. If that’s how he wants to play it, that’s fine with me.
I have about ten minutes before I need to head over for soundcheck. I’m lying on my bed with my secret notebook—the one I store Ethan’s high school picture in—when I hear a loud slam on the side of my bus. I jump, my pen sliding across the page, and then I storm out of my room to see what the fuck is going on. Griff’s in the doorway yelling. “What the fuck, man?”
“Let me in to see her!” Ethan’s yelling right back at him.
“I can’t.”